THE BRIDE WORE BLUE

by Cheryl Bolen

  And she would accept.

  With such happy thoughts, she drifted off to sleep for the first time in four days.

  When she woke to clear skies the following morning, she allowed Lettie to dress her in the blue silk. ‘Twas beginning to look as much her uniform as Lord Nelson’s red coat. Then Stanton rapped at her chamber door.

  Her chest felt lighter than air. She could soar to the heavens. Thomas was here. “Yes?” she answered in a melodious voice. Thomas had come.

  “You have a caller, madam. Colonel Gordon.”

  Her chest fell as if whacked by falling timber. It wasn’t Thomas. Only Colonel Gordon. She would tell the colonel today she did not wish to see him anymore. After all, she would soon wed his fiercest rival.

  Even if she never spoke to her beloved Thomas again, she knew she could no longer maintain a friendship with a man as bitter and mean-spirited as Colonel Gordon.

  “I’ll be right down,” she said, her voice heavy.

  It was more imperative than ever that she dispatch Colonel Gordon as soon as possible. Thomas would likely be calling before afternoon.

  When she entered the drawing room, his cane stabbed the rug, and Colonel Gordon pulled himself up to greet her.

  “Sit back, Colonel,” she said, not deigning to allow him to kiss her hand today. She sat on the nearby settee and looked at him, noticing distress on his face. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I am fine, my dear, but I have somewhat stressful news to impart.”

  She lifted her brows.

  “You’ll remember Sergeant Fordyce and his wife from Portugal?”

  “I do. Beth Fordyce was a particularly good friend of mine. They don’t live far from Bath, do they?”

  “Only a two-hour drive.”

  Her brows lowered. “Pray, what distressing news have you brought?”

  “I’ve had a letter from Mrs. Fordyce. It’s very sad, my dear. She informs me her husband is gravely ill and not expected to live.”

  A shadow passed over Felicity’s face. “But he was no older than Michael . . .”

  “I know,” the colonel said. “Such a pity, really. It would seem from her letter that he has been calling for you. Claims he has to tell you Captain Harrison’s dying words before he can go to his own reward.”

  “But Sergeant Fordyce wasn’t with Michael when he died!” Felicity challenged.

  “Actually, he was.” The colonel’s delivery was as solemn as a death knell. “Sergeant Fordyce thought if you heard your husband’s dying words, it would push you over the edge. Your grief, you’ll remember, was quite great.”

  What could Michael have been wanting to tell her? Why hadn’t the sergeant come forward before now? “It’s been four years, I believe I can handle his message now.” Especially now that she had Thomas.

  His hand gripped the silver handle of the cane beside him. “Exactly as I wrote to Mrs. Fordyce.”

  “What exactly did you write to Beth?” Felicity asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  “I wrote to tell her I would bring you to them today. It’s not yet ten. If we leave now, we can be back this afternoon.”

  She sighed. What a horrid decision she was being forced to make! This was the very day she was to give her answer to Thomas. The day she would get to see him again. However . . . she could send him her response and ask him to call in the afternoon. “Very well,” she said. “Allow me to fetch my pelisse and tell my family where I’m going. The Fordyces live in Blye, do they not?”

  “They do.”

  Felicity scurried upstairs and sat at the desk in her chamber, where she penned a note to Thomas. Her message was brief:

  Dearest Thomas,

  My answer is yes. Please call at Charles Street this afternoon.

  All my love,

  F.

  She folded it up, then got her pelisse and bonnet, the same she had worn to the ruins that day Thomas and she had . . . She swallowed, remembering his smooth touch and the bliss that overcame her whenever he touched her.

  She heard George stirring in his room, and she knocked at his door. “George,” she called.

  He opened the door and stood before her, shirtless and wearing only his breeches. “Yes?”

  “I must go to Blye with the colonel to see my old friends from Portugal, Sergeant and Beth Fordyce. Sarge is gravely ill and asking for me, Colonel Gordon said. We’ll be back this afternoon.” She handed him the letter for Thomas. “Please have this delivered to Thomas this morning.”

  Frowning, he took the letter. “I don’t like you going off with the colonel. In fact, I don’t like you associating with him at all. He’s not right in the head, if you ask me. He’s nothing but a bitter old man.”

  “I’ll not argue with you,” she countered. “In fact, I plan to terminate my friendship with him today.”

  “Good,” he said, “tell him now so you won’t have to go with him.”

  “But I do. It’s not for him I go but for the Fordyces. We were the best of friends in Portugal.”

  “I cannot talk you out of it?”

  “You cannot.”

  He solemnly watched her as she turned to go downstairs. He should have told her to wait until he dressed so he could go with her.

  Anger welled within the colonel as he watched Felicity sitting across the carriage from him, stiff as a poker. Certainly different than she sat when she was with the Upstart. Then he smiled a bitter smile. Soon she’ll be mine. It did not matter to him that she carried to their union her love for another man. All that mattered to him was the union. The union he had longed for for five years. The union that had caused him to kill—and to maim himself.

  Felicity would be worth all of it, he told himself. He imagined removing her clothing, piece by exciting piece. He had dreamed of it for so long, and now he was so close. This first time, the potions he would slip into her drink would assure her drugged compliance. After that, she would be forced to admit she belonged to him. He would see to it that no one else would ever claim his Felicity.

  She had sat gazing from the coach window for two hours now, with hardly a word for him. At noon, she began to grow suspicious. “Haven’t we come to Blye yet? Surely it’s been more than two hours.”

  “Soon,” he said.

  Then his bright red coach pulled alongside the Bull Pit Inn.

  Felicity glared at him. “Why are we stopping here?”

  “We mustn’t barge in on Mrs. Fordyce with hungry bellies. The woman has enough on her mind as it is. We’ll have a bit of a repast here, then we’ll move along toward Blye. It shouldn’t be far now.”

  He was keenly aware of Felicity’s lack of response and the anger that flashed across her face. Yes, it was a very good thing he was abducting her today. Today, before he completely lost her to that brute of a man who smelled of the shop.

  His man bespoke a private parlor for them. Felicity slapped herself down on a wooden bench in front of a matching wooden table and glared at him across the table in the darkened room.

  “Just a quick bite,” he reminded her. “I think a bowl of hot soup would be just what we need to tide us over for the visit, which surely promises to be wrenching.”

  “ ‘Twould be potato soup today,” the innkeeper’s wife told them as she brought each of them a bumper of ale.

  Felicity removed her bonnet and set it on the left side of the trestle table, close enough to the edge of the table that his cane could drag it to the very edge. And over.

  She blew on the steaming soup, then began to swallow it, unaware that the colonel’s cane scooted her bonnet over a hair at a time until it plunged off the side of the table.

  “Oh, dear me,” the colonel said. “My cane has gone and knocked your hat off the table, my dear.”

  She glanced up quickly at him, saw the cane, then said, “I’ll get it.”

  As she bent for the hat, he removed the lid from a small bottle and sprinkled his potion into her soup, using her own spoon to stir it.

>   She set her bonnet back on the table, then took another spoonful of soup. Then another. She yawned once. Then again.

  He smiled.

  He would soon carry her to the upstairs room his coachman had procured for them. Then later, after he had his way with her, the preacher would come and say the words that would make her his.

  When she awoke he would tell her she had drunk too much ale, so much, in fact, that she had consented to become his wife. And it just so happened he had in his pocket a special license.

  After reading Felicity’s note, Thomas was donning his best black frock coat. He had read and reread her letter a dozen times, his heart leaping with unbound joy. She’s going to be mine! Of course, he would be unable to wait until afternoon to see her. He would go there straightaway this morning.

  It came as a surprise when Bryce told him he had a caller. Felicity had not said she would call on him. This was even better than he had hoped! All these thoughts flitted through his mind before Bryce added, “A Mr. Brown to see you, sir.”

  The Bow Street runner! Thomas’s spirits fell. What could have happened to make the runner come here when he was supposed be following Colonel Gordon?

  Thomas hastened downstairs and met the man in his library. “Have a seat,” Thomas said.

  “I canna, sir.” The man sounded winded. As if he had been running. “The colonel left the Charles Street house with Mrs. Harrison more ‘n half an hour ago, and like you told me, I followed. To my surprise, his bright red coach just kept on going. We left Bath, then Chippenham. Then I knew I’d best get back here and tell you.”

  Thomas jerked his watch from his pocket. “What time did they leave her town house?”

  The man looked at his own watch. “ ‘Twas half past nine.”

  It was half past ten now. Thomas cursed and began to storm from the room. “Which road did they take? Is Chippenham not on the way to the North Road?”

  “It is.”

  Thomas froze. Gretna Green. But Felicity had told him just yesterday she would sever her relationship with the colonel. Then why had she gotten into the carriage with him? His heart hammered so loudly he could hardly think. He yelled for his butler and told Bryce, when he entered the library, to have his horse brought around immediately.

  He looked once again at the runner. “Did Mrs. Harrison go willingly?”

  “She did, but she did not look to be in especially good spirits.”

  Good Lord, what had the man said to her? Did he plan to ... Thomas could not think on it. He had to take action to prevent it from happening.

  “You take the London road, I’ll take the North. Whatever you do, you must get her away from that beast,” Thomas barked.

  “I give you my word,” the man said.

  Thomas took a pistol from his wall and asked Bryce to bring his shot.

  When his pistol was loaded, he and Brown left the house, leaped on their horses, and were off.

  Thomas thanked God he had a fast mount. And thanked him even more that he was as good a rider as there was. Even so, ‘twould be most difficult to gain on a coach that had an hour on him. He dug in his heels, and Thunder blazed ahead.

  Thomas tried to put his mind into the devious colonel’s. Then with a jolt to his insides, he remembered Colonel Gordon was a madman. He had likely killed once for Felicity. A sickening fear settled into Thomas like strong whiskey. What if the monster planned to do Felicity harm? Why hadn’t he warned her about Gordon?

  He cracked his whip, and Thunder went even faster. He had to get Felicity before ... it was too late. Pain seared through him.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Now suitably dressed for the day, George scrambled down the stairs. He would walk the three miles to Winston Hall and see his beloved today.

  A knock sounded at the front door, and Stanton answered it.

  A woman’s voice spoke. “Beth Fordyce and Sergeant Fordyce to see Mrs. Harrison.”

  George froze halfway down the stairs. What the bloody hell? Then gathering his senses about him, he stopped Stanton from sending the couple away. “Wait! Please tell them to come in.” He took the rest of the stairs two at a time.

  He didn’t give Stanton a chance to seat them in the morning room but stopped them in the entry hall. He eyed the tall man, who must be Sergeant Fordyce. “You are Sergeant Fordyce?”

  The man not only looked perfectly healthy, but he sounded so as well when he answered. “I am.”

  “But my sister—Mrs. Harrison—was told you are gravely ill. She has gone off to Blye with Colonel Gordon.”

  The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. “Who could have told your sister such a lie?”

  “I believe Colonel Gordon received a letter from your wife,” George said.

  Mrs. Fordyce’s mouth dropped open.

  “That’s ridiculous! My wife would never write to the man. I don’t like him, and well she knows it.”

  “Truly, I didn’t,” Mrs. Fordyce said. “I didn’t even know he was in Bath.”

  George muttered an oath. “I shouldn’t have let her go off with that man. I knew he was mentally unbalanced.”

  “Do you think he’s abducted Mrs. Harrison?” the sergeant asked, his brows lowered in concern.

  The recent picnic flashed through George’s mind. Even before Felicity had told him she had given herself to Moreland, he had known. And if he knew, the colonel—who had lived and breathed for Felicity all these years—would also have known. “Of course! He’s abducted her.” The thought was like a kick in his gut.

  The sergeant started for the door. “Come on, man, my carriage is outside. We must go after the fiend.”

  “Wait,” George said, “while I fetch my father’s pistol.”

  Felicity’s mouth gaped open in a huge yawn. “I don’t know why I’m so sleepy. I had a good night’s sleep last night.”

  The colonel watched the firelight from the private parlor’s hearth play on her lovely face. “I daresay the fresh air outside will wake you. Come, my dear, finish your soup.”

  Even though the soup was no longer hot, she blew into the full bowl of her spoon, then swallowed another spoonful.

  His eyes danced as he watched her grow sleepier and sleepier. Soon.

  The innkeeper’s wife returned to their table. “Anything else I can fetch for you?”

  “Yes, two more bumpers,” he said.

  “I don’t know,” Felicity interrupted. “The ale must be what’s making me so sleepy.”

  “Nonsense, my dear. All you need is fresh air,” he said.

  The innkeeper’s wife raised her brows. “How many ales will it be, sir?”

  “Two,” he said emphatically.

  He watched greedily as Felicity finished the last of her soup. Soon.

  The aproned woman returned with their ale, then left them alone in the room.

  Felicity’s arm moved slowly to bring the bumper to her lips. She tried to take a swallow but was unable to do so. Her lids began to droop. “I don’t know what’s wrong with—”

  She was unable to finish her sentence. The ale spilled over her dress, and she collapsed onto the bench, stretching out as if it were a bed.

  The colonel jumped up and, using the table as a crutch, moved to her. Speed was essential. The innkeeper’s wife must not see Felicity like this. He bent over her, fastening one arm under her and pulling her up, then he stood with her flopping at his side like a limp cloth doll.

  Because of his bad leg, he would not be able to make it upstairs with her. He couldn’t hold her and a cane, too. It wouldn’t do at all to fall down. It would be bloody hell to get back up.

  Where in the hell was his coachman? He’d told the fellow to come back in half an hour. There was nothing to do but to try to struggle along with her. He could lean into the wall. If he could just round the corner, he could make it to the stairway with her. Then he could hold on to the banister as he pulled them up, stair by stair, to the chamber reserved for Colonel and Mrs. Gordon. The problem would be holding on
to the rail with one hand and her with the other. Even though she was slight of build, she was far from being featherlight. A pity he didn’t have three hands.

  His greatcoat flapping behind him like a sailing kite, Thomas spurred his mount forward. He prayed the colonel had not switched coaches. That bright red coach would serve as a beacon signaling his presence. Which would save Thomas the effort of having to stop and make inquiries at every posting inn along the way. He would keep going until he saw the madman’s red coach. He prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

  Though he traveled at a breakneck pace, Thomas’s progress was impeded by the frequency of villages along the road. He had to ride through each one, looking for the colonel’s distinctive coach. There were few coaches to be seen, and all of them were black. He even rode by the livery stables and glanced inside to see if the colonel had hidden his coach within.

  The villages began to run together in Thomas’s mind. One after another, all with inns and stables. And no sign of the colonel’s vehicle.

  On leaving each village, Thomas would ride like the wind to make up for lost time. Then there would be another village. And more lost time.

  And no sign of his precious Felicity.

  The farther he went, the stronger his conviction the colonel had indeed abducted Felicity. What heinous scheme did the colonel plan? White-hot fear flooded Thomas. He told himself he could accept anything that had been done to her. Anything but death. And he sorely feared the colonel would kill her before he would let another man have her.

  Had the colonel guessed that she had made love to Thomas at the ruins? In a blissful stupor of recollection, Thomas remembered that her pelisse had been unfastened. Her skirts, too, were likely wrinkled, where he had hiked them up. In front. Still, that memory had the power to weaken him. He remembered, too, how embarrassed she had been when she had run away—back to the blankets. Where the wakened colonel had witnessed everything. With violently wrenching resignation, Thomas realized the colonel knew.